


Pink Yarn

by Rinforzando



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Gen, Maki-centric, Mentioned KotoUmi, Mentioned NicoMaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinforzando/pseuds/Rinforzando
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maki decides it's time she learned how to knit. Not for anyone specific, though–of course not. Kotori teaches her how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Yarn

When Maki borrows the knitting needles from Kotori, she tells herself it’s for strictly professional reasons.

Her motives are simple.  Learning how to craft simple, handmade gifts is a necessity to convey a sort of gratitude that calls for more than just a run to the store for a bland, generic product.  After spending Christmas after Christmas opening presents not suited to her tastes—boring baroque sheet music, a full DVD collection of the year’s hottest soap opera, thick textbooks about politics and the economy, a whole jewelry box filled with big, gaudy necklaces that look like thick wads of chainmail—Maki has long since learned that not all happiness can be bought with money.  Having a rich and busy father does that to you.  Personalized gifts that take blood, sweat, and tears to construct trump any snooty, ostentatious presents.

So she learns how to sew, knit, crochet.  Growing up, Maki would always watch her family’s maids tending to various chores around the household: folding clothes and linens into precise little squares, not an edge out of place; sweeping dust off antique oak wood furniture, not a speck of grime to be found; whipping up gourmet meals every night, not a dish without color and zing.  In rare moments where she would have the house to herself, she would try to emulate them, to mimic their grace and finesse, but her sheets would end up misshapen and uneven, her food blackened and charred beyond recognition.

Her parents had comforted her one evening after she’d nearly burnt down the kitchen, reassuring her that her hands were meant for other things, like music—or perhaps, in the future, surgery.  Not everyone is good at everything, they’d said, patting her head.  But as kind as the gesture had been, it’d made Maki all too aware of how coddled she’d been, how inexcusably poor her fine motor skills were for anything _but_ piano.  Maybe the kids at school were right, she’d thought.  Privilege, for all its lavishness and grandiosity, had made her _dumb_ in the very basic areas of life.

Expanding her array of skills is the first step to conquering this glaring flaw.  Simply learning does no good, though.  Skills have no use unless you make something out of them, or contribute something useful and worthwhile.  So later, when she stops by a thread store and swipes the pink yarn from the basket of threads, she convinces herself that it’s because it’s a nice color—surely not because it reminds her of a certain someone, and definitely, _definitely_ not because she would ever knit anything for her.  After all, pink can go well on anyone.

Kotori knows better, though.

“Wow, that shade of pink would go wonderfully on Nico-chan, don’t you think?” she says, leaning over Maki’s shoulder just as she’s casting on the first stitch around her knitting needle.

The knitting needle slips through the knot entirely and drops to the floor with a loud _clack!_

“This isn’t—I’m not—” Maki splutters, both tongue and fingers fumbling as she tries in vain to collect her bearings.  The ball of yarn falls out of her hands.

Kotori swoops in to collect the fallen yarn before Maki can even move from her seat.  She takes the knitting needle, too, and spears it through the center as she hands it back.  “A scarf,” she says, rolling the yarn back into Maki’s palm.  “I think she’d like a scarf.  It’s simple to make—perfect for a beginner like you—and autumn is the perfect season for it!”

Maki’s first instinct is to puff her cheeks and pout, but the sight of Kotori’s earnest eyes and understanding smile is enough to quell any flare of indignation in her body.  That’s the thing about Kotori, though: her uncanny intuition is scary in itself, but her kindhearted nature would make anyone let down their guard.  So instead of arguing, Maki bites her lip, abandoning all pretenses, and asks, “You think she’ll like it?”

Kotori grasps her hands, grinning, and suddenly Maki understands exactly why Umi is so whipped for her, why she falls prey to her ridiculous requests over and over.  “She’ll love it,” Kotori insists, placing another ball of yarn on her lap.  Red.  “Stripes might look nice.  Pink will go well with her usual outfit, and—well, red.  Red will bring out her eyes.”

Red is also—

Maki cradles the two balls of yarns in her hands.  Red and pink.  Well, she thinks, this isn’t a ridiculous request, but it is a push forward, and maybe that’s exactly what she needs.  “Thank you, Kotori.”

 


End file.
